


We'll Figure it Out

by marsisaplanet



Category: IT 2017, it 2019 - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Ben Hanscom - Freeform, Beverly Marsh - Freeform, Bill Denbrough - Freeform, Eddie Kaspbrak - Freeform, F/M, IT 2017 - Freeform, IT 2019, M/M, Mafia AU, Mike Hanlon - Freeform, Richie Tozier - Freeform, Smut, Stanley Uris - Freeform, Stozier, Violence, all the good shit, benverly - Freeform, georgie denbrough - Freeform, it big bang 2k19, it chapter 2 - Freeform, kay mccall - Freeform, patricia blum - Freeform, robert grey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 16:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20118034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marsisaplanet/pseuds/marsisaplanet
Summary: "This was all Bev’s fault. Richie swore he was going to strangle her the next time he saw her. He couldn’t curse her though, he loved her like a sister. She would be onstage next, he could strangle her after she performed."Or a Stozier Mafia AU for this year's (2019) It Big Bang!TW: violence (blood, gunshots, bombing attempt), hints at rape, descriptions of injuries (that's all I can think of, please comment if you thing there's any more I should put in).





	We'll Figure it Out

This was all Bev’s fault. Richie swore he was going to strangle her the next time he saw her. He couldn’t curse her though, he loved her like a sister. She would be onstage next, he could strangle her after she performed.

He sat at the mahogany bar, his drink swirling in his hand as he practically glared at the line of bottles on the shelves in front of him. Ben walked to him from behind the bar, a towel thrown over his shoulder. 

“You alright there Rich?” he asked, his voice filled with concern despite having a smile on his face.

“Yeah everything’s good Benny-boy, just a tad irritated is all.” Richie sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Anything I can do to help?” Ben asked. 

He was always a helper, asking what he could do to make someone feel better or to get the job done. That was a blessing and a curse in this business. A blessing to those who needed the help and a curse on Ben. Lord knows what trouble Ben could get himself into if he helped out the wrong people.

Richie considered his words, still staring into his drink as if something would magically appear in it. He didn’t consider himself to be on the wrong side of the business and he could use the help. But if he dragged Ben into something, he would never hear the end of it from Bev. He already had a fight to pick with her.

“It’s all good Ben,” Richie said as he glanced up to the bartender, his head cocked to the side as if to further his statement. “We’ve got everything under control.”

“I’d hate for anything to happen to you Rich,” Ben said as he rinsed down a glass. “Bev would be pissed.”

“She’s usually at least a bit pissed at me,” Richie said before taking a sip of his drink.

“It’s because she loves you.”

“I know,” Richie sighed. “I know, But hey, not as much as she loves you,” Richie said with a wink. Ben’s cheeks turned rosy at that.

“She’s about to go on, you should probably get a seat.” Ben said, nodding his head in the direction of the small stage.

“Will do Benny-boy” Richie said with a mock salute. “Will do,” he repeated under his breath before running a hand through his hair. Sitting down in a velvet arm chair in a corner, Richie continued to nurse his drink before she walked on stage.

Beverly’s flaming red hair was pinned up, a classic black evening gown hugging her. She took the microphone in her hand before beginning to croon. 

“Summertime and the living is easy. . .”

Richie knew her set well enough, jazz standard to jazz standard. She’d be done in about half an hour. It was a Saturday, it was likely nothing out of the ordinary would occur Stan was probably at temple and Bill would likely drag him to mass later. He’d have plenty of time to be irritated at Beverly.

An Ella Fitzgerald, Amy Winehouse, and a few Billie Holidays later, Bev walked off the stage. Richie hastily exited to the door to his right to the bar’s alleyway, knowing that his partner in crime would be taking her post-show smoke.

He leaned against the brick wall, waiting for the backstage door to open before she stepped out, her heels already replaced with ratty sneakers.

“Where the fuck were you yesterday?” Richie asked, blocking Beverly’s path of travel. 

“I already briefed Stan,” Beverly sighed as she stepped around Richie. “I had another appointment.”

“Another dick appointment?” Richie scoffed.

“Yes another ‘dick appointment’,” Beverly replied using air quotes for extra effect.

“Bev, do you have any fucking clue how hard it is to charm the security guards at the Fornaio Casino?” Richie said, lightly jogging after his friend. “It’s a fucking madhouse there and you know it! If Kay hadn’t stepped in-”

“You would have been fucked,” Beverly turned around, hands thrown in the air. “I know. But when you have to seduce and then gut a member of the Bowers gang, you make do.”

Richie stopped in his tracks, staring horrified at his partner. Her hands were now on her hips, her eyebrows cocked. She wore no smirk or smile, but her pleasure in Richie’s expression was evident.

“You make a fair point. . .” Richie trailed off, staring at the ground. His head suddenly shot up. “You killed one of them without me?”

“Richie for fuck’s sake I had a job to do.” 

“I got stuck with another simple heist and you got to cross another member of those stupid assholes off the list?” Richie exclaimed. “I’m talking to Stan about this I mean come on, we always do the big ones together.”

“Yeah just go suck Stan’s dick I’m sure he’ll get you a better assignment.” Richie spluttered at that.

“Look I like the guy-”

“You mean love the guy,” Richie ignored her comment.

“And I’ve known him since diapers but just because I’m his right hand man doesn’t mean I’m going to suck his dick.” Richie sighed before throwing an arm over Beverly’s shoulder. “Did it go well?”

“Yeah, process went smooth. In and out, the body’s in the Hudson.” 

“Drinks on me?” Richie asked.

“Fuck yeah,” Bev replied with a smile, pressing a kiss onto her best friend’s cheek.

. . . 

The two of them sat at Maccio’s, Beverly sipping a martini as Richie ate one of her olives. 

“When do you think Bowers will realize the guy is missing?” Richie asked. 

“Anytime. I’d hate for it to be today though, Stan and Bill are probably at mass right now.” 

“Best place for networking,” Richie said checking his watch.

“Best place for a bombing.”

“Oh fuck,” Richie whispered. “You don’t think they’d-”

“They wouldn’t,” Beverly said quickly. “But there’s always a possibility.” Richie sighed.

“Better the church than the synagogue.” Richie whispered. “Stan would be so pissed about the synagogue I mean all hell would break loose.”

“Hell would break loose either way,” Beverly replied before taking another sip of her martini. “The Italians would lose their shit and-”

“Most of the mob is Italian,” Richie finished. “But do you seriously think that it would happen?” Beverly was silent. “Bev?”

“You should call Stan,” she said before gulping down the rest of her drink. “I have another job to do.”

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all of his carpenter friends. . . . Don’t do anything stupid Bev,” Richie said before placing his left hand on top of her right. The metal of his ring was cold against her hand making her wince at the feeling.

“They call me the Lady in Red for a reason,” she whispered.

“You’re wearing black.” Richie said.

“Oh fuck off,” she giggled as Richie cackled in response. She walked out of the door with a wave of her hand, leaving Richie to stare at his cellphone and gather the nerve to call his boss while he was in church.

Eh, he could wait an hour.

. . .

Richie should not have waited an hour. He should have called earlier. It wasn’t that he was too late, or that the bomb had gone off, but there was limited time. 

“Rich why the fuck didn’t you tell me earlier” Stan shouted into the phone his voice nevertheless a whisper.

“I met up with Bev not that long ago. She’s at a job right now.” Richie replied staring up at his bedroom ceiling. He could practically see the frustration on Stan’s face. He heard him groan.

“Bill and Mike are on it. I’ll contact you if I need any damage control. Thanks for at least calling,” Stan said as he ruined his gelled back hair. “I bet Bowers is behind this.” 

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Richie replied. “Bev told me about her job yesterday. He must’ve found out.”

“He may be an overconfident bumbling asshole but he’s a quick one,” Stan muttered. 

“Call me if you need me Stanny,” Richie whispered.

“I’ll keep you updated.” Richie heard the other end of his phone beep and he sighed. He rolled over onto his stomach, face buried into his pillow before letting out a muffled shriek. It’s a good thing Mike was on the case. He was the smartest one of the bunch.

Several PhDs from colleges all across the US. A genius, a prodigy, a philanthropist. The brains of the most elite mafia in New York City. 

Richie only had one real question though, if they stopped the bomb how would Bowers react? Maybe he had a backup plan, another one set up. Mike probably already thought of that. But what if he didn-

Beep Beep Richie.

There was nothing he could do but wait. Nothing he could do at all. If he showed up he would get an earful, so he may as well get some rest for once. Richie doubted he could, his friends were in danger and it was well into the evening. Rest was not a choice. But either was helping the people he cared about most.

Besides, Eddie would be over at the church on the double. No sense in stressing, no sense in having a bucketload of anxiety wash over him. With Eddie over there on forensics and medical, things would be just fine.

Everything was going to be fine.

So Richie tried to sleep. And he did. It just wasn’t good sleep because his dreams haunted him.

Memories of blood stains and gunshots replayed over and over again in his head. He made a mistake once, what if he made one again?

. . .

“Stanny!’ Richie called down the narrow office hallway as he rolled down it in a chair. He would later puke due to spinning too much “Bev’s on line one with a message from Judge Grey.”

“Go ahead and put her through!” Stan yelled back, his hair wild and his fifth cup of coffee in hand.

Richie sent her through before plugging in their Jimmy John’s order before he felt his chair whirl around. 

“R-rich.”

“Yes Big Bill?” Richie asked, a shit eating grin splayed across his face.

“D-did you pu-ut my stapler in f-fucking jell-lo again??” Bill yelled. Richie tried to keep in his laughter but instantly failed. “Y-you son of a buh-bitch!” 

“It’s an iconic move Billy!” Richie threw his hands in the air. “It’s iconic!”

“Why d-don’t you do th-this shit to Ssss-Stan?” Bill asked exasperatedly, his palm rubbing across his face.

“Because I love Stan the man.”

“And you don’t love me?” Bill gasped.

“I don’t just love you Bill,” Richie placed a hand on one of Bill’s shoulders. “I adore you.” 

“Oh m-my goodness!” Bill collapsed to the floor. “I d-don’t know wh-what to s-say! I’m sp-speechless!”

“You’re still talking dumbass!” Stan called taking his ear off the phone for a second to holler at his friend. The two boys continued to cackle before Bill went back to sort through paperwork and Richie went to go through resumes.

Then everything stopped. 

“Rich, Bill,” Stan said in his most domineering voice. “We’ve got a code over in Queens. We need to go now.”

“Who is it?’” Richie asked, throwing on his coat. 

“Hockstetter,” Stan said, running a hand through his hair.

“Fuck,” Bill murmured. “Looks l-like I’m driving.”

They sped down the highway, Bill going over the speed limit by at least twenty mph. Richie was more worried about dying in a car accident then by whatever fiery mess Patrick was about to set off. 

Patrick ‘the Pyro’ Hockstetter. Good god, the ruins that resulted because of his work. In a way it was beautiful, a man doing what he loved. The fact that he loved something so destructive was what made it horrifying.

Arriving in front of the apartment building they knew would soon catch fire was not the most pleasant feeling in the world. They took the steps two by two, praying that no one would trip up the stairs. To reach the roof, Hockstetter’s place to brood.

“Patrick!” Stan yelled. “Don’t you fucking dare light that fuse.”

“I’m just getting some no good politicians out of the way,” Patrick said with a shrug. “Makes both of our lives easier, doesn’t it?”

“Th-there’s children in this bu-building Hockstetter,” Bill said, fists clenched.

“Ah, too bad for them,” Patrick scoffed. “Seems they’ll suffer the same fate as your little brother, always throwing himself in front of others, wasn’t he?” Richie pulled Bill back, his hand gripping his wrist in tight.

“Watch your words Patty,” Richie growled.

“That’s a lot coming from the Trashmouth,” Patrick turned back towards the head of the trio. “There’s nothing to stop me Uris,” he spat. “Besides, why would I take orders from a filthy Jew.”

“You take orders from a man who sucks dog’s cocks and you jerk him off every night though, don’t you Patty?” Richie said, standing in front of his best friend.

“Maybe it’s you who you should watch your words Trashmouth,” Patrick sneered pulling out his gun, ready to aim and fire.

And fire he did, for it was what he loved. Richie didn’t regret his words one bit, and though he was willing to take the bullet, Stan took it first.

. . .

That was what caused Richie to wake up at two in the morning drenched in a cold sweat. His sheets sticking to his back as he walked over to his window. Spot three green things in the room, Richie muttered to himself. 

Aloe plant  
Wicked poster  
Electric guitar

What’s the date today: March 22nd. What’s your name: Richard Wentworth Tozier. Where are you: Manhattan, New York, USA. He has his bearings, but is Stan okay?

Richie threw on some clothes and sprinted out his apartment door, not bothering to lock it behind him. He dashed towards the subway station before texting Stan furiously.

Trashmouth: r u okay?

He didn’t get a response back for another twenty minutes which he spent tapping his foot anxiously, his fist clenched around a subway pole. 

Stan the Man: Mike found and disabled it. Checked for any extras and there were none. Should be fine. 

Trashmouth: I’ll be over there in 5

He leapt off the train, only slightly worried that he would trip over the gap, and continued his mad dash over to the church. He paused for a moment to catch his breath, panting as he pushed open the door. 

“Christ Chee,” Eddie said, placing a hand on Richie’s back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just peachy Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie said, pulling on his best grin. “The question is are y’all okay?”

“We’re fine. DNA matched up,” Eddie said shaking his head. “Hockstetter for sure.”

“Where’s Stan?”

“He’s okay Rich,” Eddie said, his eyes softening. 

“I know, I know,” Richie said quickly. “Just wanna see for myself.” Mike walked towards the pair, pulling Richie in for a hug.

“Hey big fella,” he said, releasing his messy friend. “There’s not much to do on site. You know you don’t have to be here right?”

“I know,” Richie said with a laugh. “Everyone keeps telling me that tonight. I just wanna help.” 

“We all do,” Mike said. “But Stan really wants everything on wraps so that way we don’t have to employ damage control.” Richie winced. 

“Yeah . . . that would not be fun.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Eddie scoffed from Richie’s left. “Stan should be waiting for Bill outside confessional.” Richie nodded, starting off in that direction.

Stan leaned against a wall, picking at his nails, looking up when he heard Richie approaching.

“Rich, I texted you. You didn’t have to come,” Stan said.

“Doesn’t change the fact that I still felt the need to,” Richie said softly, his hands shoved in his pockets. 

“C’mere,” Stan said, arms extended, pulling in his best friend for a hug. “I’m okay.”

“Well I know that now that I see you,” Richie whispered into Stan’s hair, who sighed in response. Stan pulled away, placing a hand onto Richie’s cheek.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Still felt like it,” Richie said. “I just don’t want any repeats.”

“And there won’t be,” Stan said, trying his hardest to sound reassuring. He knew that Richie probably wouldn’t buy his words no matter how much he meant them. “I promise.”

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” Richie asked.

“Go home and get some rest Rich,” Stan said. “Please.” Richie nodded slightly, raking a hand through his hair.

“Tell Big Bill that I stopped by.”

“For sure,” Stan nodded. Richie waved before turning on his heel to leave.

Outside of the church he fiddled with a cigarette. The cold March air nipping at his nose and his ears. He lit the cigarette before placing it between his lips, breathing in the flavor and breathing out smoke. Richie pulled his phone out of pocket, searching through his contacts for a certain redhead before dialing her number.

It went to voicemail.

Typical.

“Hey, it’s Bev, leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you. Probably. I’ll try to. No promises.”

“Hey Bev,” Richie sighed. “It’s me. Just checked up on site. Everything’s good. Eddie said the prints matched up. It’s Hockstetter again. Thanks for the catch, I know you weren’t sure about it but it was still good. I’m gonna head home. Call me back so I know you’re okay. Love ya.”

He ended the call, taking another drag of his cigarette before walking towards the subway station again, only this time it was to go home. Richie shook his head, his loose curls bouncing around his neck, his back slouched. He rubbed his eyes with his fist. 

The subway ride home wasn’t as anxiety inducing as the previous one, which was a point in Richie’s book. He quietly banged his head against the subway pole, his forehead stinging a tad as a result. When he got to his stop, Richie tried not to think about what was happening on site, but it was to no avail. Stupid anxiety. 

He opened the door to his apartment, only to be faced with a dark figure sitting in one of his living room chairs. There sat the big bad himself, a drink in his left hand, a gun in the other, Henry Bowers.

“Motherfucker,” Richie cursed under his breath. Henry just chuckled in response. 

“Where’s the money from the casino Trashmouth,” Henry said, gun still pointed. “I know you were the one that took it.”

“That’s a pretty big accusation right there Bowers,” Richie said, subtly opening a drawer to put a gun into the pocket of his oversized sweatshirt. “You got any proof on that?”

“My men aren’t as tight lipped as you think,” Bowers said, his cocky smile never wavering. “Blowjobs only go so far you know?.”

“I don’t have the money asshole,” Richie growled. “And even if I did I wouldn’t just turn it over to you.” 

“I think you should, after all,” Henry said with a laugh. “One of your little friends is on the line.” Richie’s eyes widened at that.

“You son of a bitch,” he muttered. Henry’s laugh turned into a cackle. 

“Richie, Richie, Richie,” Henry said. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Not mine,” Richie said. “Yours actually and we do a lot more than kiss if you know what I mean.” Henry sneered.

“You make one more smart ass remark like that, I put a bullet in your head. You understand?” Henry said, rising from his chair. “Now hand over the money, before I have to make you.”

Richie knew he didn’t have a choice. Bev’s life was on the line and that was worth a lot more than 250k. 

“Fine,” Richie said, hands up in the air in surrender. “Lemme go get it, but I need proof that Beverly’s alive.” 

“Oh, the doll’s just fine,” Henry said with yet another sickening grin before pulling out his phone. He swiped through some pictures before shoving it into Richie’s face. “She’s alright.” Richie felt his face whiten as he stared blankly at the image in front of him. 

Beverly was hanging from the ceiling of a rusty warehouse, her wrists bound together from the rusty structure of the building. Her mouth was gagged and blood ran down from her face. Richie saw peppered bruises all along her every inch of her body, long red scratches accompanying them.

“You sick bastard,” Richie screamed. Henry just laughed.

“You best hand me that money then, shouldn’t you Trashmouth?” Richie glared back at the man in front of him before he walked to his bedroom. He shoved a briefcase into the other man’s arms. 

“Get the fuck out of my house,” Richie said firmly. “Before I make you.” 

“Thanks for the drink,” Henry said with a wink, tossing the glass over his shoulder which shattered on the floor into hundreds of tiny pieces. “I’ll see you later.”

“That motherfucker,” Richie said, trying desperately not to sob after Henry slammed his door closed. He ran to lock the door, rubbing his palm across his face. “That son of a-” Richie screamed into his fist. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

. . .

Richie rang up Stan three times before he picked up. 

“What is it?” Stan asked, clearly irritated. 

“Bev is M.I.A. Bowers has her.” Richie said, trying to keep his voice steady. “He knows about the heist and he must have found out that she was the one that took that guy out.” Richie heard Stan curse. 

“How?” Stan murmured.

“The asshole showed up at my house,” Richie groaned. “Made me hand him the money and I have no clue where Beverly is. Some sort of warehouse.” Stan sighed. 

“I’ll call in for a rescue mission or a trade off or something,” Stan said. “That son of a bitch has got our girl and Ben is not gonna be happy about this.”

“None of us will be fucking happy about this Stan,” Richie said. “For fuck’s sake what job was she even doing tonight?”

“I don’t know, Kay assigned it.” 

“You’re the head, you should fucking know,” Richie cried. There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Go get some rest Rich,” Stan said softly. 

“You’re the one who needs some rest Stan,” Richie said firmly. “Besides I’m not just going to sit by when Beverly is hanging by her wrists and being tortured by a bunch of fucking assholes.” 

“I get that you’re upse-”

“I am much more than upset Stan.”

“Get some fucking sleep Richard,” Stan said. “You’ll need it for the rest of the day. We’ll go after him at 9:00.”

“Stan-”

“Get some rest Richie. That’s an order.” Silence from both ends. 

“Fine,” Richie said defiantly before hanging up. He stepped over the broken glass that he still had yet to clean up. Richie screamed into his pillow and laid there face first until he woke five hours later.

. . .

When Richie woke up the first thing he noticed was that his window was open. The second thing he noticed was Bill sitting at the foot of his bed. 

“G-get some cl-clothes on.” Bill said. “L-let’s go!” He yelled, clapping his hands for emphasis.

“Jesus fuck,” Richie winced, the sunlight streaming in from his open window causing him to squint at his friend and the noise causing his ears to ring.

“G-get your a-asssssss up!” Bill said, pushing Richie off his bed.

“OW MOTHERFUC-”

Bill went to Richie’s kitchen to pull out some cereal for breakfast, pushing the buttons on his friend’s Keurig rapidly. Richie shuffled out of his room, a blanket trailing behind him like a cape. 

“Th-this is why S-stan wanted yuh-ooh to g-get some sleep,” Bill said sternly. 

“I get it mom, Jesus.” Richie groaned. “Pass me the fucking coffee.”

“D-do you h-have any puh-awp t-tarts?” Bill asked.

“Second cupboard. Nope to your left, no up! Up to- there you go.” 

Bill munched on a pop tart as Richie sipped his coffee noticing his glass free floor.

“Thanks for cleaning that up.” Richie said, nodding gratefully.

“Bowers?” Bill asked as Richie sighed.

“Yeah. . .” he closed his eyes tight before opening them again. “I just really hope we find her.”

“W-we will,” Bill said, placing a hand on top of Richie’s. “I know it.”

“I just,” Richie felt tears prickle into his eyes.

“Y-you’ve got to st-stop blaming yuh-yourself f-for everything Rich,” Bill whispered, brushing flakes of pop tart away from the corner of his mouth. 

“I know Big Bill,” Richie said with a sad smile. “It’s hard.”

“Th-that’s what she said,” Bill giggled causing Richie to snort.

“Let’s go, we’ve got a friend in danger,” Richie said, pulling on a jacket. Bill smiled, his Richie was back. 

. . .

Bill pulled his car up in front of Stan’s house, the two boys walking up the small flight of stairs before knocking a rhythmic pattern. Mike opened the door, nodding for them to come in. Ben, Eddie, and Stan, sat around a coffee table. Each one of the men had clenched jaws, knuckles, and scowls on their faces.

“Mike’s got a steady arsenal, I’ve got back up coming in hot from Brooklyn thanks to Patty,” Stan said, debriefing Bill and Richie. It was clear the other boys already knew this information. “We’ve triangulated a location that they’re probably at based off of where Bowers is based.”

“They might not be in Queens,” Richie said. “Don’t you think that they’ll expect that? It seems too obvious.”

“It’s our only lead Rich,” Ben said with red puffy eyes. Richie felt his heart sink a little. “We need to start somewhere.” Richie sighed.

“You’re right,” he said as he plopped down on a couch. “I’m sorry.”

“We’re all worried Chee,” Eddie whispered, laying his head on his friend’s shoulder. 

“I know,” Richie said, running a hand over the small of Eddie’s back, a smile on his face, though it was painful.

“We need to get going,” Stan said. The rest of the boys nodded 

“God I wish it was just a normal day at the bar,” Ben whispered.

“It’s not a normal bar though Ben,” Mike said. “It’s a front for the business.”

“Still beats worrying about my kidnapped girlfriend,” Ben replied. Mike nodded to show he understood, showing his sympathy in the smallest of actions. Mike always showed instead of telling. 

The boys piled into Bill’s car and they sped off to Queens after grabbing sandwiches. Every short cut Bill could take he took. Every single red light he could run, he did. They arrived fifteen minutes before their estimated time of arrival.

Richie felt himself grip Stan’s hand as they walked towards the warehouse. Each boy held their guns tight, approaching quietly around the building. Richie desperately wanted to twirl his, but resisted the urge. Mike kicked the door down and they approached to find a mannequin with a red wig hanging from the warehouse rafters.

“I fucking knew it,” Richie muttered under his breath. 

“Not the time Rich,” Stan muttered back. “Not the fucking time.” 

“They were here for sure,” Richie replied. “It’s the same place as the picture though.” 

“A lead is better than nothing,” Ben whispered. Then suddenly the sound of ticking filled the air.

“Run!” Mike cried. They raced back to the car, shrapnel and rubble suddenly behind them. The smell of smoke in the air.

They sped off yet again, Ben holding his head in his hands. Bill punched the horn with the side of his fist once they hit a red light. Richie tried to ignore the frustration he felt bubbling inside his lungs, but he knew it would explode at some point.

“What the fuck are we gonna do now?” Richie asked, venom dripping from his voice. “We have no clue where they could be. None whatsoever.”

“We’ll figure something out Ri-”

“I know Mike!” Richie yelled. “We’ll figure something out, we always do! We always win! Top mob in all of New York City, but hey, one of our top members is missing and maybe we won’t figure this out without her here.”

“This isn’t our first rodeo Chee,” Eddie said trying to calm him down from the seat beside him.

“Doesn’t change the fact that she’s gone,” Richie said, gripping his arm rests.

“She’s not gone,” Ben said, whipping his head quickly to face Richie. “She’s not gone and we’re going to find her.”

The rest of the car ride was silent. Richie tried to pretend his outburst never happened. He hoped to whatever god there was out there that it wouldn’t be brought up when they arrived back at Stan’s place.

And fortunately it wasn’t. The rest of the crew understood, for they felt similar, if not the same pain. A friend going missing is one of the hardest things to go through.

“What if what happened to Georgie happens to Bev. . .” Bill whispered.

“Don’t think like that Billy,” Eddie replied back in a hushed voice. “Don’t say it again either. We’ll be okay.”

“I wish I was as optimistic as you,” Richie said. The boys sat back down in the living room, Richie twiddling his thumbs, still trying desperately not to cry. 

“Did Bowers give you any clues where he could be?” Ben asked.

“No, but we could always check the Fornaio,” Richie sighed. “Get some intel from there. Do we have anyone on the inside?”

“We had Bev,” Mike said. “She was the only mole we really had.”

“Fuck,” Stan said under his breath. 

“The casino is our best bet then isn’t it. . . “ Richie trailed. “Maybe Grey knows something too.” Stan’s eyebrows shot up.

“Robert Grey?” Stan asked. “Judge Grey?”

“He’s one of our best bets,” Mike said. “It’s a fair idea.”

“That guy gives me the creeps,” Eddie shivered. 

“Casino first?” Richie said. The rest of the crew nodded in agreement.

. . .

They walked towards the Fornaio keeping the lowest profile possible. Their guns were kept close and hidden away, traveling in a pack. The flashing light bulbs above the casino’s double doors were blinding. Richie winced at the glare bumping off of his glasses.

Bill drug one of the security guards standing outside of the door into a nearby alley, pushing him roughly against the cold brick wall. Mike, Ben, and Eddie standing on watch. 

“Where’s Bowers?” Stan demanded, glaring down at the guard. 

“How the fuck should I know?” the guard said in a gravelly voice. “I’m not his slave, I don’t follow him around like these little shit seem to be doing to you.” Richie punched him in the nose, a muffled crack resounding through the alley, blood streaming from it instantly. The guard screamed, but Bill had his mouth covered, the guard’s blood streaming onto his hand.

“Where’s Bowers?” Stan asked again.

“I told you I don’t fucking know!” The guard exclaimed before Richie punched him again, this time in the jaw.

“Tell us wh-where he is or y-you’ll get a few m-more into you,” said Bill. 

“I’d hate to hurt this pretty face some more,” Richie smiled devilishly.

“All I heard was something about Queens!” the guard shrieked.

“Not fucking good enough Dumbo,” Richie said as Bill pushed the guard harder against the brick wall. “We know he’s located in Queens.”

“I told you I don’t know,” the guard said, salty tears running down his cheeks. Stan saw right through him.

“You know something you piece of shit,” Stan said into the guard’s ear. “And we’re gonna get it out of you. At that the guard began to whimper, his lower lip quivering. 

“He could be anywhere I swear!” The guard said, trying to shrink himself into a ball. “He said something about a warehouse a-and transport to somewhere else a-and I don’t remember!”

“Then you better start to remember motherfucker,” Stan growled. 

“There’s a bar back in Queens that they like to go to,” the guard said. “I think it’s called Nickel Wise. Check around there, that’s the best I can give you I swear on my mother’s life!” 

“Bill,” Stan said, who then nodded in return and released the guard who let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks for the info buddy, we’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“Richie,” Stan called, turning to his partner. “We’ve got some damage to fix.”

“Roger that boss,” Richie replied looking over at the guard who sat motionless on the alley floor. He crouched down to get on the other man’s level and quicker than a whip, pulled out his gun and shot the man in the chest. 

“Grey’s next?” Richie heard Bill ask. Stan gave him a reply and they all returned to the car.

. . . 

Stan rung the buzzer up to Judge Grey’s penthouse. The man wasn’t truly a judge, he was the supreme overlord of the city. He had eyes and ears in every single institution, company, and program in town. If he didn’t know where the gang had Beverly, no one would.

“Stanley,” Mr. Grey’s muffled voice said through the intercom. “Come on up with your little entourage.”

The six boys were sent up in the elevator to the highest floor, each one of them anxious to get in and out as fast as they could. Stan was used to talking to Grey, but that didn’t mean he wanted to. In a way, he felt like he was playing dirty.

Then again, in this business, you had to play dirty to survive.

Grey stood in front of the elevator doors when they arrived, beckoning them to come completely into the room.

“You’re looking for her, yes?” he asked as the boys trailed behind him.

“Yes, sir,” the crew said together. 

“What’ll you give me in return?” he asked. There was always a catch, but Stan didn’t know what it was. Richie could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prick up. 

“What do you want?” Stan asked in return. Grey chuckled before turning around to face the group of young men standing in his kitchen. 

“I’m in need of some assistance from Mr. Hanlon,” Grey said, staring deep into Mike’s eyes. Stan glanced worriedly over at Mike, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down. Mike nodded, communicating to Stan almost telepathically.

“Of course sir,” Mike said. “I’m sure you have my contact information.”

“That I do Mr. Hanlon,” Grey said with a smile. “I’ll debrief you after you’re done with this little escapade.”

Ben was twiddling his thumbs anxiously, desperate for any sort of information on Beverly. Richie put a hand onto his friend’s to try and calm him down. Mr. Grey noticed this interaction almost immediately. 

“Not Queens,” Grey said shaking his head. “Brooklyn.”

“They’re in Patty’s territory?” said Stan, trying to mask the disbelief in his voice. “Patricia’s that is, not Patrick.”

“Those girls can only do so much Mr. Uris,” Grey said sternly. “And even so, Bowers knows better than to stay there for too long.” Stan nodded slowly, Grey had a point. Patty’s band of girls was one of the toughest bunch out there. With Kay at her right hand side, they were practically unstoppable. Stan was fortunate that they were on his side. He was even more fortunate that they collaborated so frequently.

“There’s a brewery,” Grey continued. “If you were planning on checking Nickel Wise in Queens, that’s a rather idiotic move. Bowers would know you were there instantly. That place is swarming with members of his mob. He’ll have her in the back room of Neibolt Brewery.”

“Thank you sir,” the crew said, once again in unison, as Mr. Grey ushered them out of his apartment. No one spoke on the elevator ride back down to the ground. No one spoke until they were in the car. 

“Do we need to stock up o-”

“Nope.”

“We’re going straight there?”

“Yup.”

“We should take two vehicles,” Bill said. “In case of any emergencies. . . “ Stan sighed.

“I’ll drive the other one over there,” Richie said. “I’ll meet you guys over there, just drop me off and I’ll head on over.”

“Rich,” Stan said. “Be careful.”

“It’s just a car ride,” Richie scoffed. “I’ll be okay Stan the Man.” Bill dropped Richie off before speeding off again over the highway, leaving a trail of exhaust in the distance.

Richie got into the car instantly before speeding off right behind him. He tried to be inconspicuous as to not draw any attention from neighboring officers. They did not need anyone on their ass right now.

They went through the back entrance of the brewery, creeping slowly through the door with their guns already prepared. Ben tried to ignore the anger seeping out of his chest when he saw Beverly.

Her head was lulled to the side and she was still gagged. Her arms and legs were bound together onto a wooden chair. Ben was sure the ropes would leave burns on top of the bruises and scratches she had. 

Richie saw Ben curls up his fists and once again, he placed a hand on his friend’s to try and calm him down. Ben counted in for five counts and out for another five, regulating his breathing as best as he could. 

The rest of the boys inched forward, looking for any men who might be around. Luckily, it appeared that no one was in the back. They were likely in the front, mingling and making connections.

Richie undid Beverly’s binds with a pocket knife, Ben gingerly picking her up bridal styles as soon as she was released. He brushed the hair out of her face and tried not to sob when he saw just how deep the damage went.

“Let’s get her in the car,” Stan whispered. Mike opened the door again and they were faced off with none other than Patrick Hockstetter and Henry Bowers.

“God dammit,” Richie muttered.

“What do we have here Patrick?” Henry said to his partner.

“It seems we’ve caught a couple of thieves,” Patrick said with a wicked grin.

“Oh I hate thieves,” Henry said, his voice growing dark. “And they’ve got something very precious of mine too.”

Eddie kicked Henry in the kneecap causing him to buckle over and the boys ran out of the back. Patrick started firing gun shots soon after causing the crew to sprint faster. 

Richie and Ben were carrying Beverly together at this point. In a mad dash to one of the cars, Eddie tripped and fell on his face. 

“Eds!” Richie cried.

“Keep moving!” Eddie screamed back.

Bill slid one of the passenger doors open, Ben and Richie placing Beverly’s unconscious body as hastily and gently as they could.

“Eddie, first aid kit is in the back,” Bill said. “I’ll drive us to the safe house.”

“I’m coming too,” Ben said firmly. Bill nodded, knowing better than to put up a fight. Mike climbed in shortly after.

“Uris! Tozier!” Richie and Stan turned around towards the gun shots, prepared to fire back. “You’re gonna eat shit!”

The two boys ran to the other car, Richie getting into the driver’s seat immediately. They sped off in the opposite direction of Bill and the rest of the crew. It was a good thing the cars were identical, it would be hard to know which vehicle to go after.

Luckily enough, the gang sped after Richie and Stan. Bill may be the best driver out of the seven, but Richie was a close second. Narrowly missing a few pedestrians at an intersection, Richie sped through a red light. Nevertheless, Bowers was still on his tail.

They didn’t lose them for another few blocks, but both of the boys knew that their rivals would catch up soon enough. That’s how they ended up where it all began, in Queens.

Richie felt his heart pumping out of his chest as he ran towards the elevator, Stan hot on his feet. They rode up to the top floor, panting.

“Why here?” Stan asked, still short of breath.

“First place I thought of,” Richie said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

When they arrived at the top floor, they sprinted up a flight of stairs to the roof of the apartment building. Richie breathed in deeply through his nose, his eyes shut tight. If this was to be a showdown, it may as well be here.

They heard the car pull up with a screech. Henry and Patrick sprinting out of it and into the apartment building. Richie ran a hand through his hair before staring at his best friend.

“If anything happens-” Richie began.

“I love you too Rich,” Stan said, a sad smile on his face. “I love you too.” Richie reached his hand down to touch Stan’s cheek, his thumb running over his cheekbone softly. 

“I’ll stay by the door, yeah?” RIchie said. “Better I get beat up than you.”

“Rich-” and that was when the roof entrance door opened. A pissed looking Henry Bowers emerging with Patrick Hockstetter right behind him. Richie kicked Henry directly in the crotch, sending him hurtling backwards into Patrick who rolled down the stairs and hit his head on the concrete landing, passed out cold. 

Well that makes Richie’s life at least a little bit easier. Henry charged forward, tackling Richie onto the hard cement of the roof. Richie flipped over so that he was on top before slamming Henry’s face into the cement, breaking his opponent’s nose. Henry let out a scream before tugging hard at one of Richie’s ears.

Henry sat on top of Richie, his lungs beginning to contract until he heard a snap. He was his square in his glasses, probably an attempt to break them completely, and was then punched in the nose. Richie felt the liquid trickle into his mouth which tasted completely like iron. 

Stan pulled Henry off of Richie, elbowing him straight in the mouth before twisting his neck and pushing him onto the ground. He then pulled Richie over his shoulder, dragging him towards the exit of the roof. 

Henry rose from the ground, wiping the blood away from his face, Richie doing the same. Stan pulled out his gun as Richie desperately gripped onto Stan’s suit. 

“Don’t move an inch closer Bowers,” Stan said.

“Oh Uris,” Henry grunted out as he pulled out his own gun. “You wouldn’t try to shoot me. Me on the other hand? I would shoot you any day.”

With that Henry fired and Richie moved in front of Stan. The bullet was caught inside his stomach, and with that Richie fell to the ground. Henry cackled maliciously as Stan stared as his friend in shock. 

“He’s always following you like a dog isn’t he,” Henry spat. “That little bitch was always in your wa-”

Stan fired his gun instantly straight at his foe.

“Doesn’t feel very fucking fun does it,” Stan screamed, tears streaming down his face. “It fucking hurts doesn’t it you motherfucker! Fuck you-”

Stan tried to calm himself down before picking up Richie’s body who croaked hoarsely;

“Don’t take me to the hospital.”

. . .

Richie laid on a bed inside Stan’s guest bedroom, Bev on another one a few feet to his left. Barely any light was in the room as the blinds were shut and the curtains were drawn. 

The curly haired boy blinked his eyes open slowly, wincing as he tried to sit up onto his elbows. He smiled when he saw Stan slumped in a chair, snoring away. Glancing over at Beverly, he felt a small pang of sadness. At least she was here, but she would likely be scarred for the rest of her life. 

Richie slowly got off of his bed, wiggling his toes when they touched the carpet. He shuffled towards the bedroom door, creaking it open and walking into Stan’s hallway. His bare feet freezing against the hardwood floors, Richie walked as slowly and quietly as he could as to not wake up anyone else. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but if anyone knew he was out of bed, they would freak out.

He wasn’t surprised to see Eddie, Mike, Bill, and Ben, passed out on Stan’s couch. What he was surprised to see was that it was 11:00 am. He shuffled along the floor, feet still freezing, to get some coffee when he heard the sound of someone else walking.

“Rich?” Beverly asked hoarsely.

“Yeah,” Richie laughed quietly. “It’s me Bev.”

“What the fuck happened to you?” she laughed before moving into a coughing fit.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Rich said, placing a hand onto Beverly’s shoulder blades. “Lemme make you some tea okay?” Beverly nodded and sniffled, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Go sit down.”

Richie went to Stan’s pantry and pulled out some lavender tea and honey. As he began to boil the water, he pulled out Beverly’s favorite mug, which read; “Daddy Needs Sleep.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Richie asked quietly. Beverly hesitated. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, no,” Beverly said waving a hand nonchalantly. “I do it’s just. . .”

“Painful?” Richie asked.

“Yeah. . . .”

“Take your time Bev,” Richie said. “You don’t have to tell me today.” He went to take the kettle off the stove before pouring it. “Cream and sugar?”

“Just honey,” Beverly whispered. “Thank you,” she said as she took the mug away from Richie. 

“Wanna play Smash Bros?” Richie asked.

“Fuck yeah,” Bev said with a smile. “I’m gonna kick your ass.” They sat on the couch, away from the rest of their friends, the volume of the TV set on low. 

Beverly did in fact, end up kicking Richie’s ass for several rounds, in which they talked about the events that had occurred during the week. 

“They got me on the way to the job,” Beverly said as she swallowed Richie in the game. (Beverly was playing Kirby, Richie was Link). 

“Just snatched you up?” Richie asked.

“Yup,” she said. “Dragged me away to that fucking warehouse. They decided to take their turns. . .”

“Did they. . .?” Richie said, voice so quiet you could barely hear it.

“Yeah,” Beverly replied, voice cracking. Richie paused the game before turning to his best pal. He pulled her in for a gentle hug, both of them slightly wincing. Stan ran into the living room then.

“You guys are up!” he said with a grin. “Holy shit you guys are up,” he said suddenly frowning. “You should be in bed, are you playing Smash Bros? Get back in bed!”

Richie and Bev put their hands up in defense, backing slowly to the guest room. As soon as Stan left and closed the door they started laughing. It was good to be home.

. . .

Eddie unwrapped Richie’s torso, checking his broken ribs gingerly. Bruises were still blossoming all across his back and that bullet wound was still extraordinarily tender. 

“You’ve still got a few days bed rest Chee,” Richie whined in response.

“But I wanna go see the new Marvel movie,” he pouted, batting his eyes at Eddie.

“Yeah no,” Eddie said, instantly shooting down Richie’s idea. “I need you to stay home. Everyone is staying over here until everyone has recovered.”

“Can we at least do a movie marathon. . . .” 

“Well duh,” Eddie said with a roll of his eyes. “We stocked up on snacks too. Got Bill a whole pack of pop tarts and we got you a whole bunch of Cheeto fries.”

“Fuck you guys are the best,” Richie said, his smile making his eyes crinkle.

“It was Stan’s idea,” Eddie said with a knowing look. Richie blushed, shaking his head to make it less obvious. “You need to talk to him Chee.”

“You’re right,” Richie sighed. “I hate it, but you’re right.” 

“I’ll figure out a way to get the two of you alone,” Eddie said, cleaning up his supplies.

“Eds you don’t have to. Please do-”

“Yeah too late,” Eddie said. “You two need to work this thing out. You clearly have very strong undeniable feelings for each other and I am sick and tired of seeing you mope about it.”

Richie bit his lower lip, suddenly becoming very interested in his jeans. Eddie placed a hand on Richie’s right knee.

“You’ve got this Chee,” Eddie said. “I promise.” Richie sighed.

“Doctor’s orders,” Eddie wrinkled his nose. 

“Yeah don’t say that,” Eddie said. “I’m not that professional.”

. . .

Richie heard short rapping on his door, causing him to slowly blink his eyes open. Stan stuck his head out of the door, giving him a lopsided smile before walking over to him.

“Just checking up on you,” Stan said.

“Not allowed to go out of the house,” Richie groaned. “Eddie Spaghetti said so.”

“Well, doctor’s orders.”

“I said that to him and he got kinda annoyed,” Richie said.

“That’s cause you say lots of annoying shit Rich,” Stan said with a smirk.

“Oh fuck off,” Richie folded his arms in defense before pulling his blanket over his head. 

“You’re so immature,” Stan snorted, pulling the blanket back up. Richie smiled up at the golden haired boy above him, trying not to seem too starstruck.

“Hey, about what I was going to say when we were on the roof I . . .” Richie trailed off, trying to find the right words. 

“You don’t have to say anything Rich,” Stan said, crawling under the blanket so he could see him closer. “I can read you like a book.” 

“But I wanna say something, I just don’t know what to say,” Richie said defeated. 

“I made the Trashmouth speechless huh?” Stan said, placing his head onto Richie’s shoulder. 

“Eh you couldn’t shut me up for that long,” Richie murmured into Stan’s hair. “No matter how hard you tried.”

“I have my ways,” Stan said, looking back up at the lanky boy lying next to him. They were so close, Stan’s nose touched Richie’s jawline. He gingerly pressed a kiss under Richie’s chin, who interlocked his fingers with Stan in return.  
“I love you,” Richie murmured into Stan’s hair.

“I know,” Stan replied into Richie’s neck, continuing to press kisses along it before straddling on top of him.

“Pause,” Richie said, placing his hands on Stan’s shoulders. “Did you just Han Solo me?”

“We both know that I’m the Han Solo in this relationship,” Stan said, staring down at Richie.

“Is this going to be a relationship?” Richie asked slowly.

“Do you want it to be?” Stan said softly, eyes a bit creased. Richie nodded, once again, slowly, causing Stan’s eyes to soften. 

Richie pulled Stan down, his arms wrapped around the back of Stan’s neck as Richie sat up straighter against the headboard. Stan’s lips tasted like cherry against Richie’s. God, Richie had waited for this since ninth grade and now twelve years later he was finally getting it. 

Stan poked his tongue against Richie’s lips who deepened the kiss eagerly. Richie ran his fingers through the blonde’s curls, tugging at it desperately ever so often. They only stopped to breathe, their foreheads touching, noses in the crooks of each other. 

“Fuck,” Richie murmured against Stan’s lips.

“Am I hurting you?” Stan asked. “Being on top of you like this ?”

“I’m okay Stanny,” Richie whispered. “Always am when you’re around.”

Richie ran his arms down from the back of Stan’s next to the hem of his shirt. His fingers tickling the skin on Stan’s stomach causing goosebumps to erupt. Richie tugged upward, taking Stan’s shirt off before Stan leaned in again for another kiss. Stan reached down to unbutton Richie’s jeans, trying to pull them further down than the knees.

“Pants are always so fucking hard to take off like this,” Stan groaned while Richie laughed. Richie shimmied the pants off of his legs before unbuttoning and taking off Stan’s. 

Stan palmed Richie through his boxers causing him to whine. Stan smirked at the reaction Richie was giving him, bringing his digits underneath his waistband to tease along his thighs.

“Stan,” Richie groaned, unintentionally bucking his hips up. “Do something, please.” Stan relented, bringing his boxers down before grabbing a bottle of lube.

Stan coated his fingers before swirling his index finger around Richie’s hole, oh so slowly. Richie moved closer to Stan’s ear.

“Please.” he whispered, his breath tickling the nape of Stan’s neck. Stan pressed his lips against Richie’s as he pushed into Richie’s hole, past his knuckle. “F-fuck,” Richie said breathily, his mouth opened in a large ‘O’.

Stan continued to smirk as he pushed in and out before adding another finger. He scissored his fingers open back and forth before pushing up further and further until:

“Motherfucker,” Richie cried out in pleasure. There’s the spot. Stan just kept going at a torturously slow pace, Richie bucking up his hips in desperation for more contact. Another finger in and Richie was even more of a wreck.

He was panting, legs quivering oh so slightly, the hair at his neck curling due to him sweating. Stan pulled out causing him to whine.

“Never thought you would be this needy,” Stan said jokingly.

“I always thought I would be topping,” Richie said out of breath. “But I like this a lot more.” Stan squirted some more lube before coating Richie’s hole in it. Slowly, he lined himself up.

“Condom?” Stan said.

“I’m clean,” Richie said confidently.

“Okay. . . . Ready?” Stan asked.

“Ready,” Richie said.

“Like are you sure you wanna do this I mean you just got shot a couple of da-”

“Stan if you don’t stick your dick in me right now I swear to fucking god,” Richie groaned, causing Stan to hastily comply. 

“Fuck,” they moaned at the same time before giggling. Stan snapped his hips forwards going faster and faster, Richie’s nails raking up and down his back. Stan pressed a kiss behind Richie’s ear before whispering into it: “I love you.”

And with that Richie was coming, staining Stan’s sheets that had probably been washed the previous day. Stan pulled out soon after, releasing onto Richie’s stomach. The two of them sat there panting. Stan tried not to show how much he enjoyed the mess that he made.

“Shower?” Richie asked, a smirk on his face.

“Fuck yeah,” Stan murmured in reply.

. . .

The losers laid on Stan’s couch, Richie’s fingers covered in Cheeto fry dust. Beverly laughed into Ben’s shoulder as she ate her raspberry sorbet. They watched Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. They ate, drank, and were merry. And they figured it out. The Loser’s Club would live on to see another violence filled day.


End file.
